


Off the Rails

by tiedyeflag



Category: The Property of Hate
Genre: Humor, miss cell amy's, puns, the market, trains of thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 05:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6271579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedyeflag/pseuds/tiedyeflag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss Cell Amy's has a delicate shipment, trains of thought, but Tailor and Tinker accidentally sets them free! Now they must play chase and round them up before Cell finds out...and the curious trains wreck havoc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off the Rails

****_Snip, snip, snip, snip…_

Tailor lifted their scissors from the vibrant green cloth and inspected their work. After sticking their tools into their bodice, where their heart would be, they pulled out pins from their shoulders and stuck it to a lifeless mannequin.

“TAIIIILOR!! TIIIINKER!!”

“Uuuuugh...what now?” Tailor sighed and abandoned the half made suit. They wrapped their bandage arms around the poles leading to the lower floor, and fell down the hole like a fire fighter.

They collapsed on the back of a praying mantis the size of a pony.

“.-- .... .- - / --- -. / . .- .-. - .... ..--.." Tinker exclaimed.

“Sorry!” Tailor cried and jumped off. They were more interested in showing up on time for their boss. Tinker did the same, scampering behind them with his hammer and chisel feet making clumsy thunks with each step.

Passing colorful carousels of various animals, they finally reached the heart of the store. An enormous pile of quilts and needles sat near the middle, making up the backside of a porcupine creature wearing an ancient pair of glasses. She impatiently tapped her paws on a wooden box covered in bright wrapping paper.

“About time you two show up! Come come, chop chop!” Madame Cell said.

“What is it this time? Difficult customer?” Tailor asked while readjusting their bandages to a more tame arrangement.

“Nope, this,” Cell patted the box. It looked like a present for a spoiled rich kid.

“.- / ... .... .. .--. -- . -. - --..-- / .. / ... . . ..--..” Tinker tilted his head.

“Yes, dearie, a VERY delicate one at that. You two go and put them in the back properly, understand?” Cell waved her finger warningly.

“-.-- . ... --..-- / -- .. ... ... / -.-. . .-.. .-..”

“Yes, Miss Cell…” Tailor said.

“Wonderful! Now if you dearies will excuse me…” Cell shuffled away. “Remember, it’s a DELICATE shipment!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tailor mumbled. They ran their bandages over the box, feeling the smooth paper until they found a label with the words _TRAINS OF THOUGHT_ in curly blue ink.

“Whoa! She wasn’t kidding when she said ‘delicate’!” Tailor exclaimed. “We don’t get these every day!”

“... .... --- ..- .-.. -.. / .-- . / --. . - / - .... . / .... .- -. -.. / - .-. ..- -.-. -.- ..--..”

“Good idea, I don’t think I can carry these with my bandages alone…”

The two walked away-or Tinker did; Tailor hopped alongside-when Tailor accidentally hit a goat carousel above her head. It bumped into a neat row of closed parasols, starting a domino effect as one knocked down the next. The last one rammed into a coatrack, and Tailor and Tinker watched in shock as one display collided with another until, at last, a unicorn head crashed down from the ceiling, its horn cutting through the wrapping paper with a sharp rip.

Both employees froze, their instincts telling them a storm was coming...a climactic show cresting on the horizon…

...or from the insides of the box, as they heard tiny clicks and hisses. Shyly a miniature blue train peeked out of the rip. Even without eyes, it glanced at Tailor and Tinker.

“--- .... / -.. . .- .-. .-.-.-”

“Don’t you dare-”

With a whistle of steam, it quickly chugged away, with a dozen more of rainbow colors following it.

“Hey! You get back here!!” Tailor demanded and hopped after them. The trains were too fast, however, and in a flash were all out of the shop and into the streets of the market.

“Oh nonononoNONO,” Tailor held their head, hat askew. “Cell’s gonna kill us!” They dragged their bandages down their face as Tinker caught up to them, expression equally shocked. His morse code ticks came out in uncomprehensible titters. He looked over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cell helping a customer-a small creature with orange fur and a large green hat. A lively one, too, keeping her fully occupied with questions while eagerly flinging its arms about.

“Looks like she’s busy-Tinker quick!” Tailor barked. “We have to get those trains back fast! You go on ahead, I’m getting my scooter for this!” As they turned around, they hit the goat carousel once more. “Stupid goat, it’s the goat’s fault!” They hissed.

“.. / --. ..- . ... ... / .. - .----. ... / .- / ... -.-. .- .--. . --. --- .- - / - .... . -. --..-- / -. --- ..--..”

“Save the puns for later, Tinker!”

* * *

 

A lime green train zipped past stalls and the feet of amorphous beings. Tinker pushed past crowds to catch up, but when he turned around a corner, he couldn’t see the train anymore. He frantically scanned the area, but how could anyone find something toy sized in the middle of the market during rush hour?

“’Scuse me,” A woman with an octopus head politely pushed past Tinker, urging him to creep to the side of the street. His rear bumped into a table, sending a bottle toppling over the edge. Tinker spun around and caught it just in time.

“Oi, careful with me wares, lad!” The storekeeper barked, a burly sheep woman with a scottish cap and plaid tunic.

“-- -.-- / .- .--. --- .-.. --- --. .. . ... --..-- / -- .- .----. .- --”

“Hmph,” She expertly rearranged the rest of the bottles on her table, each a different color and shape. A star shaped one filled with a neon pink fizzy liquid caught his eye, and the fancy label sparked an idea.

“See something you fancy?” The sheep asked, changing her tune at the potential of a sale. “Care for a sample?”

Tinker nodded and pointed at the pink bottle.

“Ah, Inspiration! A personal favorite of mine!” She picked up the bottle and a slip of paper. Before she could spray the sample however, Tinker waved his arms to stop.

“-- .- -.-- / .. / ... .- -- .--. .-.. . / .. - / --- -. / -- -.-- ... . .-.. ..-. --..-- / .--. .-.. . .- ... . ..--..”

“Eh? You trying to stiff me, lad?”

“.--. .-.. . .- ... . --..-- / .. - .----. ... / .- -. / . -- . .-. --. . -. -.-. -.-- ”

“...Fine. Have it your way, but just a weeeeee bit, ya hear?” She removed the cork. Immediately a pink mist floated out and around Tinker’s neck. As the scent saturated the collar of his loose white shirt, it dispersed into the air, and he saw the little green train suddenly chug towards him.

“- .... .- - .----. ... / .- / --. --- --- -.. / - .-. .- .. -. .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.-” He let it glide into his outstretched bars, and held it to his chest. When he affectionately tickled its steam chest, six more trains darted to his chisel feet.

“- .... .. ... / .. ... / .-- --- .-. -.- .. -. --. / ... .-- .. -- -- .. -. --. .-.. -.--”

“Yip!”

Tinker’s antenna twitched. Looking up, he found an idea resembling a beagle running up to him. Then another dog idea appeared from an alleyway, and then another. Though none of them appeared hostile, they all barked at him, craving a whiff of his perfume.

“.-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- .- / -... .. - / - --- --- / ... .-- .. -- -- .. -. --. .-.. -.--”

“Arf! Arf arf!”

“BOOF, BOOF!!”

“Yip yip arrrroof!”

He hastily scooped up all the trains in his jemmy bars and galloped in the opposite direction. The pack of excited ideas chased him as if he was a cat. Some as small as chihuahuas, others the size of great mastiffs. As Tinker turned around the corner, the pack followed, some knocking over the sheep woman’s table.

“HEY! What’s the big idea?! Who let the flipping dogs out?!”

* * *

 

Tailor spun their bandage like a lasso, and with ease caught a dark indigo train. They reeled it in until it dangled in front of their smug face. “Ha, gotcha! Now who’s next?” Eagerly looking around like a gun happy cowboy, they spun in a circle on top of their two wheeled scooter. With their official purple cap, they resembled a police officer looking for criminals.

“Toot toot!”

“Oh?” Tailor followed their ears, and soon caught sight of an excited white train. When it found Tailor staring at it however, it froze.

“Aha! Another one!”

_Nyooom-!_

“Not so fast!” They leaned forward, and the scooter zipped away. Tailor clutched tighter on the handles, weaving between customers like a race car driver. They didn’t even falter when they jumped over a flight of stairs.

Suddenly, Tailor stopped, looking for the little white train. They saw it jump and zip into a dark tent.

“You’re cornered now,” Tailor smirked and used their scooter to glide after it. Once inside, their socket hole eyes adjusted to the blacklight; the tent tarp was covered in glow-in the-dark shapes of planets and stars. The clear boxes littering the tables also glowed, with tiny, shiny black holes spinning inside. Several merchants-living blobs with ladder shades and bedazzled baseball caps-swung rhythmically behind the tables.

“ _Yo, get yo galaxies here bros, ‘cause they’ll rock from yo head to yo toes, an’ everybody knows that’s the way to go,_ ” They rapped to the beat coming from a dancing robot made entirely of boomboxes.

Tailor payed no mind to their performance. Instead they zeroed in on the train-now a glow in the dark green-trying to blend in behind some galaxies.

“Hmph,” A fresh bandage appendage wiggled from their bodice and spun in the air. It too glowed under the blacklight as it formed a ring. With a flick of Tailor’s ‘wrist’, the lasso flew through the air and clutched the train’s chimney.

“Gotcha!”

The train panicked, and blindly pulled away. Caught off guard, Tailor’s arm gave slack, allowing the train to hastily snake around table legs and customer’s legs. Figure eights, weaving, criss crossing…

“Not on my watch!” Tailor tensed her bandages, the train still struggling to escape. What was left stretched like elastic as it pulled against the leash. Tailor gave a hard jerk, and reeled in their prize.

...along with everything their bandage was tied around.

“Yikes-!”

Tailor looked away as they heard crashes, shattering glass, and even a small explosion, followed by shrieks and cries by customers. When there was just silence, Tailor dared to open their eyes. They nearly dropped all the trains at the sight; tables upturned, galaxies melting like ice cream, and the merchants glaring angrily in Tailor’s direction.

“Dude, not cool,”

“Sorry! I-I’ll pay for the damage later!” Tailor stuttered and spun on her scooter, narrowly dodging items the customers threw at her, and ignoring unsavory phrases they yelled, too.

* * *

 

“Toot!”

Tinker made a shushing sound the best he could, begging the trains in his arms to be quiet. He was almost back at Miss Cell Any’s...As he crept inside, relieved at not seeing Cell, he found tire marks leading inside. Twin ones, and too thin to belong to a large vehicle…

“- .- .. .-.. --- .-. .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- ..--..”

He passed by familiar carousels and parasols until he reached the storage area of the establishment. Shelves upon shelves hanging everywhere, made of well loved wood, most of them full of items to sell.

Like the excited trains of thought Tailor struggled to push inside.

“Calm down! Geez, do you want me to chase you down all over again?” They said. “I’ve heard of racing thoughts, but this is ridiculous,”

“- .- .. .-.. --- .-.”

Tailor turned around. “Tinker! Did you get the rest of the thoughts?”

Tinker raised his crowbar full of trains, trying not to drop any.

“Need a bandage?” Tailor smiled slightly.

“.. ..-. / -.-- --- ..- / .-- --- ..- .-.. -.. / -... . / ... --- / -.- .. -. -..”

With a shuffle, Tailor stuck out more bandages and swiftly grabbed each train. Then she stuffed them into the shelves with the others. They whistled in protest, still bursting with steam and energy.

“C’mon you guys, it’s only for a little bit. You can stay still for a few minutes, right?”

“Too-tooooooot!”

“I take that as a-”

“TAIIIIIIILOR, TINNNNNNNKER!!” Boomed Cell’s voice. “YOU TWO COME HERE FASTER THAN I CAN DROP A PIN, Y’HEAR?!”

“Oh boy…” Tailor took a sharp intake of air. They turned back to the trains. “You guys just hang tight for two minutes. Two. Minutes. Please?”

“...toot…”

In the blink of an eye, Tailor and Tinker zipped out of the room, past wardrobes and chests, to the source of Cell’s voice. They found her patchwork backside facing them as Cell spoke over an antique, golden rotary phone.

“Yes, yes, it’ll be ready by the day after tomorrow...don’t fret, I won’t...alright, very well, good bye, dearie,” With a click she hung up, claws grazing the polished brass.

“About time you two showed up!” She barked as she faced them, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “I had to manage the store all by myself for a full hour! I hope you’ve got excuses!!”

“U-uh…” Tailor bit on the end of her bandages like nails. “...lunch break?”

Tinker covered his face with his jimmy bars while slowly swinging his head back and forth.

“Bah, fine, don’t tell me. It’s not like I don’t know already. You missed one, by the way,”

“W-what?”

“.-- .... .- - ..--..”

Grinning wickedly, Cell unfolded her arms just enough to reveal a iridescent train of thought nestled into her thick sleeves. It was smaller than the rest, but much calmer, purring.

“You have to treat these thoughts gently at first, because once they see the first flash of freedom, BOOM! They run wild with curiosity!” Cell stroked her train.

“--- ..- .-. / -.. . . .--. . ... - / .- .--. --- .-.. --- --. .. . ... --..-- / -- .. ... ... / -.-. . .-.. .-..”

“It was the goat’s fault!”

“The scapegoat?” Cell cackled.

“Uuuuugh...You’re as bad as RGB…”

“Anyway, now we’ve got a handful of excited thoughts on our hands. There’s only one thing to do,”

“Babysit them around the clock?” Tailor grumbled.

“Nope!” Cell shifted her train in one arm and dug through her deep pockets with the other. After rummaging through several, she grinned and pulled out a perfume shaped bottle with a fancy label.

“.. -. ... .--. .. .-. .- - .. --- -.” Tinker’s antennae perked up.

“This’ll keep them inside the shop, at least. Since you two started this mess-” Cell tossed the bottle into Tailor’s hands. “-it’s your responsibility to spray this around the border of the shop twice a day. As in right now!”

“But what about keeping them out of our work-”

“Less talk, more walk!” Cell waved a claw.  

Tinker placed a crowbar on Tailor’s shoulder, silently begging them to not argue. Tailor huffed and wordlessly complied before saying, “Yes, Miss Cell…”

“Pin-tastic! Now go on, shoo shoo, get busy!”

“C’mon, Tinker,” Tailor swung her bandages around two umbrellas attached to the ceiling and glided herself away with Tinker by her side.

“There’s a good dea-hey, wait a second-” Cell cried, seeing her train attempting to sneak past her. “What are you doing, you little locomotive? What’s tha-OH NO, YOU GET BACK HERE WITH MY NIGHTGOWN, RIGHT NOW!!”

**Author's Note:**

> Took a while to write this, but wanted to get back into writing fanfic of this lovely webcomic! Hope I did Cell and the gang justice...and those little trains of thought are adorable. Reminds me of the train set my dad used to set up in my playroom, it even puffed smoke! Also found out there are no exclamation points in morse code...who knew?


End file.
